


Coming Down

by awwcoffeenooooo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lots of Angst, as part of your healthy shipper diet, but fluff to balance it, heavy au, ignore that, more bad tags, teenage!FitzSimmons, yes I am an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awwcoffeenooooo/pseuds/awwcoffeenooooo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I - I just hate to spring this on you, Fitz. It's not your problem, and I'm just confused and -"</p><p>He watched silently as the glassy liquid in her eyes became too much and began to spill over her cheeks. Her chest started heaving, and despite the drugs and guns that made up their lives, he took her into his arms.</p><p>/or/</p><p>They were just two teens in an unforgiving world, and if all they had was each other, then so be it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Is How It Begins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentlemons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentlemons/gifts).



> Turns out hiding from the rest of your family while they have the stomach flu is very productive. I've written over 6K of this fic today alone XD
> 
> Dedicated to lovely @bioforensics over on Tumblr, aka Adrienne. Just . . . Bunnies. :))))
> 
> She knows what I mean. 
> 
> Anyhow, enjoy! :D

 

"I - I just hate to spring this on you, Fitz. It's not your problem, and I'm just confused and -"

He watched silently as the glassy liquid in her eyes became too much and began to spill over her cheeks. Her chest started heaving, and despite the drugs and the guns that made up their lives, he took her into his arms.

The first thing that hit him was how unbelievably tiny she was. Most of the kids growing up on their side of the tracks were. But underneath the oversized grimy hoodie she wore, his fingers could pick out each of her individual ribs. The realization made his grip loosen, scared to hurt her anymore than she was, but Jemma only pulled him tighter to her. She was seeking comfort, and he could only offer so much.

It wasn't long before his mind began screaming at him that the door was still open. That he could still push her out of here and save himself, protect his kind-of home. But he wasn't like that. He couldn't do it. He couldn't toss his once best friend out and hope for the best.

"They're coming for me," she murmured tearfully into his shirt's collar. The wet slide of her tears slicked across his neck. "They already killed . . ."

Her voice broke, and she sobbed with new abandon into him. He could only hold her tighter, only pretend to believe that whoever they were out there wouldn't hurt her.

The victims were her parents, high-ups in the drug cartel that ran this part of the city. It was common knowledge to the gangs out here that you make one wrong move, you're out of the game.

They'd both known long ago that it was only a matter of time. Now, the hourglass had run out of sand.

They stumbled as if one to the ratty couch that she vaguely remembered helping Fitz drag from a curb. It was musty and stained but it overall smelled like Fitz, and she crumpled into it.

He held her, regardless of the fact that she was on top of him and overall they were just two teenagers in an intimate position. But then he realized that there was no one to chastise them. Her parents were dead - the one thing keeping them apart.

Fitz willed his mind not to, but he couldn't stop it. He lurched painfully toward the last night, the night that ended it all.

He remembered the beer bottle hurtling toward his head, just barely ducking out of reach. He remembered Jemma screaming for her parents to stop, that it wasn't like that, that they had never slept together and he had never hurt her. That he never would.

He remembered the death threats, that if they ever saw him again they'd kill him. All because he fell in love with their daughter, and she too.

It was dangerous to have attachments. They all knew it, they all understood it. Eventually you got into a bad place with some gang somehow, and eventually that came back with a bullet or a blade. And usually, that attachment was slaughtered with you.

He hated to remember. He hated to feel hopeful. After all, the one barrier between himself and the girl he loved was gone.

His hope deflated. Wether or not they had abusive and absent from Jemma's life, they were her parents. She still loved them, even if they did her more harm than good.

To start a relationship in the backwash of a murder - it just wasn't right. Whether or not Fitz mourned them, it was still wrong. They were still human beings, however high or messed up.

His thoughts turned back towards Jemma, whom was still atop him, arms around his neck and hips bracketing his. Her sobbing had slowed, but still she sniffled weakly.

"It's alright, Jems," he whispered. "You're going to be alright." And though he hard himself for it, he couldn't help but add: "You're free now,"

* * *

 

Eight years ago, they were nine year old kids growing up in an adult world.

Together they'd sneak off, out of the slums, away from their parents, and to the tiny playground just outside of the city limits.

Jemma would bring the bolts and nuts she'd found from the shop next door to her home, prompting Fitz to fix one of the swings or sturdy the merry go round. Fitz would raid the scrap bin of his mother's tailor shop, gathering bits of lace and ribbon.

They would sit together at the edge of the play set, Fitz with his hands deftly braiding her long locks into new styles and Jemma chattering about anything and everything.

"Look at the birds," she'd hummed one day, Fitz behind her as always and tying off a pig tail with a bit of white lace. "They're so pretty,"

Fitz hummed in reply, starting in on the other side of her hair.

"I want to be free like them," she decided, bright whiskey eyes following their path across the sky. "They don't have to stay in dirty places and listen to bad things,"

Fitz stopped then, hands balancing out three strands of hair, and watched her. Looking back, it was probably the first time he ever saw her as a girl, and not a play mate or partner in crime. That she was actually rather pretty, even at such a young age with dirt streaked across her cheeks and cuts up her knees.

"You will be," he said finally, returning to the French braid he'd been busy with. "One day you'll be free, and I'll take you everywhere you want to go,"

* * *

 

She slept in his bed that night. Their bodies seemed to instinctively curl together, blending in a way that was so comforting it made her sob all over again.

He held her. It was a reminder that something as simple as this could in ways be more intimate than sex, more telling of love than anything else.

When morning broke, he braided her hair in the way that had been her favorite as a girl, afterwards taking care of her sliced cheek. He fixed breakfast himself, and together they ate.

It was a silent occasion to begin with. The unspoken hung thickly in the air between them. Over a year had passed since their splitting of paths, and Fitz couldn't help but wonder if it would ever be alright. If they would ever be alright.

Her eyes darted to him when she thought he wasn't looking. She was taking in everything that had changed in the past year, the blue of his eyes that would forever more be burned in her soul.

"You've changed,"

The words tumbled past her lips of her own volition. His eyes darted to hers, finally making sweet contact, and she couldn't help but again be swept by the flow of love.

Two beats past, long and silent, until he cleared his throat.

"So have you," he pointed out hoarsely. "We both have,"

It was such a simple, truthful statement but it hurt so much. It was a bitter awakening that he could have moved on - there could be someone else.

But if he had, would he have taken her to his bed? Would he have held her like that - like fine china, scared that she would crack even further? Would he have made her breakfast, braided her hair, cleaned her cut cheek with such care?

So Jemma broached the topic uncertainly, with careful caution.

"How," her voice cracked, so she took a deep breath and began anew. "How have you been?"

He sighed heavily, setting down his fork. "Fine. Helping Mum around the shop, looking for a new place to live. Not much here anymore, if you know what I mean,"

She didn't miss the way his eye contact dropped.

"How about you?"

Jemma swallowed tightly. "Honestly? Horrible."

His eyes darted back up to hers, blue as ever and sending a swoop through her chest. "Really?" He managed, quietly.

"After . . ." She struggled. ". . .the incident, I just went downhill. Mag and Elijah were more. . ." Her voice trailed off, leaving silence in its wake. They both knew what she was getting at. Her parents had never been loving, quite the opposite in all honesty.

His hand crossed the table and rested on her forearm gently, one finger softly tracing the scars that resided there. Neither spoke, just allowing the moment.

"I tried to look for you," he started hesitantly. "I looked everywhere, but it was just like you were gone."

Jemma blinked rapidly. "I - I tried to run. But I didn't make it in time and they . . ." She lifted a hand, shaking, to her neck line and pulled down the collar of Fitz's shirt. He inhaled sharply at the crudely branded "X" at the beginning of her right breast, just out of sight with the right clothing.

"I'm going to kill them," he breathed, tightly watching as her fingers released the fabric.

She laughed softly without amusement, eyes glittering. "I think someone already beat you to that,"

He cringed, leaning back in his seat. She sobered at the loss of contact. "I'm sorry, I didn't think -"

"No, it's fine." She interrupted, moving some of the eggs on her plate with her fork. "They don't - they don't deserve to be remembered kindly,"

"They're still your parents though, Jems." Fitz's voice was soft, reminding.

She shook her head violently. "No, not like that. They may have given birth to me, but they weren't my parents."

He smiled softly, as if in awe. "You're the strongest person I've met, Jemma Simmons,"

Her cheeks blushed prettily. "There are hundreds of kids just like us, Fitz. I'm no one to look up to,"

"But that doesn't make you strong," he returned, eyes firm. "You don't let this-" he gestured around them at the grimy, dark apartment, "-define you. You're your own person. And I love you for that,"

It wasn't until her sharp intake of breath that he realized what he'd said, and immediately he started to backpedal. They were both on their feet, him to keep her from running before he could explain himself.

"Jemma, I swear I didn't -"

She grabbed him firmly by the shirt and pulled his lips to hers harshly, nipping at his lip. He groaned into her mouth, hands grasping at her hips as he pushed her back into the wall.

"I love you," she murmured softly when they finally pulled apart, resting her head against his.

He grinned softly, breathless, and kissed her twice more. "Love you too,"

* * *

 

They fell into each other's arms whenever they could, all kisses and meaningful glances. Slowly, piece by piece in the weeks following, their scars began to fade. Her parents were no more than a distant, tragic memory.

She'd wake him up in the night sobbing in their shared bed, hair matted with tears and vocal cords rough with sleep. And he would take her into his arms and hold her, pressing kisses to her scalp as she clung to him until her cries faded in quiet breaths.

Nothing happened in their bed. At least not yet. It was simply a place of comfort, of late night kisses and early morning cuddles. Every night Jemma would fall asleep to his heartbeat, to his chest rising and falling. It was a soft comfort that she may very well never have to leave again.

He would wake up with her caramel curls all tousled and tangled, with a pair of bright eyes that carefully traced his jawline. She'd beam up at him when his eyes fluttered open, only to snuggle in deeper to his chest and place a good morning kiss on his throat.

Little by little, her things became entwined with his own. Two toothbrushes in the sink. Hair ties under every surface imaginable. Shirts that had once belonged to him but now no longer had a clear owner. Socks mixed together with the rest of their laundry in their shared basket.

* * *

 

It was a crisp fall morning when Jemma padded into the kitchen. Fitz was at the stove making their pancakes, a special he reserved especially for days like these.

Her hair was still wet from the shower, falling gently to frame her face. Droplets still lightly coated her eyelashes. Her robe was wrapped tightly around her frame.

"Fitz," she started off softly, waiting for him to turn to face her before continuing. "Have . . . Have you ever considered. . ."

Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed tightly. Fitz, alert as always, sensed her aura of sobriety. He turned the stove to off and wiped his palms on a kitchen rag, pulling out a seat and sitting across from her.

His eyes met hers. "Yeah?"

She took a deep breath, rushing out. "Have you ever considered becoming intimate?"

He didn't answer her at first, mindlessly watching his fingers knot and untangle over and over in the rag. She held her breath, watching him carefully.

Moments ticked by, the silence stretching taut. Finally, his crystalline eyes darted to hers. He sighed.

"Jems, I don't want to take advantage of you," he murmured quietly, his gaze serious. "You're coming out of a rough patch and I don't want you to mistake it for comfort,"

Her eyes met his fiercely. "Don't you think for one moment that I'm doing - asking about - this because I don't feel loved," she raised her chin defiantly. "I've never felt more loved in my life than these past few months with you,"

Fitz smiled softly, his eyes dropping down to the cloth still clutched in his palms. "You're not going to let this go, are you, sweet?"

Her gaze softened instantly. "Fitz, I don't mean to push you into anything you don't want. If you feel we're not ready for this, I completely understand. That's why I asked,"

"No, Jems," he quietly chuckled as he darted up to meet her gaze. "I want this, believe me. It's just that I'm scared to hurt you somehow,"

Jemma stepped forward half a step, taking his palms in hers to tow him to his feet. She firmly took his cheeks between her hands and kissed him soundly. "You'd never hurt me," she murmured softly against his mouth, their foreheads resting against each other as they locked eyes. "Never,"

* * *

 

She was wrong, in a way. It did hurt, to the point she had her eyes scrunched closed for the first couple minutes and then some. But he kissed her softly like she was the only thing that mattered and ever had, and it eased the burden just a little bit.

After it was done, Fitz sweaty and panting and pressed tightly to her back, lips trailing up and down her neck, she couldn't help but wonder if this was what the rest of her life could be like. If she could be as close to him as possible for the rest of her life, to wake up to his mussed curls and sleepy eyes and brush their teeth together side by side. If they could make pancakes every morning, perhaps even leave this place for somewhere safe.

And the way he held her was like no other, like she was his and yet she belonged to no one. Like she was a privilege to him, not something he deserved. It only made her love him all the more.

Her eyes finally fluttered shut, his chest still strong and warm at her bare back, and allowed the darkness to take her.

* * *

 

The next morning was full of soft touches and delicate glances and pink cheeks. They were two seventeen year olds that had just given it all for each other on the edge of nowhere, in a place filled with lies and deception and filth.

His mother cast them a knowing smile, no words needing to be spoken. Jemma couldn't help but blush; as much as she was a new addition to her life, Fitz's mother had already become like her own maternal figure.

They ate breakfast in a comfortable silence before Jemma and Fitz began to clear the dishes, working side by side. Soap bubbles in each other's hair and wet tees, it was a chore but it was just _so damn domestic._ It was strange, Jemma realized as he flicked dishwater in her hair amidst her giggles, how something so mundane could become the extraordinary.

* * *

 

Exactly forty-three days after their consummation, their tiny haven shattered.

It was an ordinary Tuesday, but it's strange how life works out. How the ordinary becomes the extraterrestrial and the silent the lions.

So the shattering of wood ranked upon their ears, Jemma lurched from her quiet stance in Fitz's arms. The telly was running an old show, not quite enjoyable but made perfect by the boy she loved holding her in his arms.

It was over in an instant.

Looking back, she'd have given anything to have just kissed him one last farewell or one last squeeze of his bicep. To just quietly say goodbye, I love you, and everything in between.

But the splintering and heavy footsteps ascending the stairs weren't gracious, she found. They were here to finish what they had started nearly half a year before with her parents slaughtered on the kitchen floor.

She lurched painfully out of Fitz's arms, her chest tightening. Instinctively her fingers reached under their bed to the strap of her backpack, now filled with her essentials if she ever need to run.

Fitz was up now, his near slumber only evident in the curls she loved so much. His eyes blearily traced her movements before coming to rest on her teary eyes.

"Jemma," he started softly, but she never heard the rest of his sentence as she ducked out the doorway, down the stairs and flipped over the railing, narrowly avoiding her attackers.

The three immediately backpedalled, turning to chase her down the flights leading to the lobby. They weren't large, she knew. But never the less, she wouldn't stand chance in a fight.

Her ratty and torn sneakers, the laces left untied in her haste, struck the icy concrete as she ran, away from the safety and into the unknown.

Somehow, she reflected, the mysteries suited her better.


	2. Life Goes On, It Gets So Heavy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs* Well, Adrienne, here you are. XD 
> 
> I reeeeeaaally wanted to drag this out a day or so longer, but it's your gift, and I feel bad dangling a cliff like that in front of you like a carrot on a stick XD 
> 
> Also, remember the code of conduct??? ;) (it was one sided, but ;))
> 
>  
> 
> Here you are!

Snow and rain had become her companions, the soft crunch of it beneath her shoe and the drops of it on her hood. It was the thing that lulled her to sleep at night, a flimsy stand in for Fitz's arms.

Her bolt bag had contained a jacket, which she was immensely grateful for having the foresight to pack. It wasn't her warmest, but then again it was at least something.

The cold nipped at her toes and fingers tips in the night, but it was never enough to bite. A thin sheet of snow would cover the ground come morning, and it was surprisingly good insulation for her thin sleeping bag.

But the cold wasn't the only thing on her mind.

* * *

 

It's only after she's started running that she starts to wonder.

It would make sense, wouldn't it? When she's lying in her sleeping bag and looking up at what few stars make it through the city's smog, when she wonders what Fitz is doing at this exact moment. Whether he's looking for her, or mourning, or trying to gather her things.

She can't help but wonder if he's angry. Jemma all too well knows that he doesn't know her reasoning for running. Why she had a bag ready to go, or why she hasn't come back.

She tried to come back, she did. With her hood up in the dusk she tried to return to him, but she couldn't. The men were watching, waiting. They wanted her blood.

And to go running back to Fitz . . . She couldn't bear to see him slaughtered like her parents. She wouldn't put him in danger, even if it killed both of them in the end. It was why she'd been ready for the possibility of this.

He would find a nice girl, she decided. One who wasn't an orphan and who didn't have a trail of bodies behind her. He would learn to love someone who didn't have hate in her heart.

It would kill her, no doubt. Even the thought of Fitz holding another girl in his arms and waking up with her and making pancakes killed her. Because she loved him more than any part of her miserable existence up to this point, and a world without Fitz wasn't a life she wanted to live.

But still, that shred of hope that Fitz was out there and maybe, just maybe, one day they could be together kept her going.

* * *

 

Jemma was crouched in an alley, the tall buildings on either side acting as a windbreak to her back. Her fingers were cold but it was enough to warm them at least a bit, even as she fumbled to pull the lid from her pill bottle.

The bottle wasn't a recent purchase, by any means. It was a leftover from her life with Fitz, before she had been run from the only home she'd ever known.

Her pills weren't drugs, contrary to what many might think. Instead, they were a purchase from a street vendor named Raina, whom commonly sold vitamins and other such items. These specific pills were birth control, and after some deliberation, Jemma had decided to continue taking them. Though a terrifying thing to think about, should any man ever try to take advantage of her, at least she had some defense.

Her fingers scrabbled out a tiny white pill, her other hand then pulling the water bottle from her side pocket. With dismay, she discovered the small amount left had completely frozen over in the night.

She paused a moment, contemplating the tablet, before popping it in her mouth. Though she had never done it before, she had might as well try to dry swallow it.

It became apparent after a few tries that it simply wasn't going to go down easy. Her lips pulled downward as her tongue moved the tiny thing around to the front of her mouth, where it left a sweet taste on her tongue.

Jemma froze.

_Nononononononono . . ._

Quickly, she pulled another tiny tablet from the bottle and popped it in her mouth. The same familiar sweet taste coated her tongue, making her feel sick.

These weren't birth control.

They were sugar.

* * *

* * *

She denied that there was anything growing inside her until the stretch of her stomach told her otherwise. After all, some women simply couldn't have children. Perhaps she was one of the lucky few.

Her life didn't allow for a mirror and a warm room, let alone enough coins to scrape together  for a pregnancy test.

But somehow, she already knew it was too late.

A few weeks after her revelation, the zipper of her jacket was having trouble closing. She couldn't help but croak out a sob, her back sliding along the brick of the doorway she was camped out in until she reached the concrete.

Here she was, alone in the world with her best friend's . . . _Something_ inside of her. And yet he was nowhere to be found and she was just a single teenager in a huge city with no home.

Her world was cracking even further around her. For the first time since being on the streets, she felt well and truly terrified.

* * *

 

Panhandling was no longer an option, she found in January.

No one took pity on a pregnant, homeless teenager. Because she was exactly what people always pointed to as wrong, all of society's problems tossed in a blender and wrapped in an angsty, broken package.

So she watched people judge her, day in day out, and cursed the tiny thing inside her that was making her starve.

* * *

 

Her back hurt, of course. Because life couldn't give her a free bee for once, so of course the basketball sized bump in her stomach had to make her damn back ache.

She settled down in the public library, staying out of sight from most people and silently cursed Fitz that he couldn't be here to give her a goddamned back rub.

* * *

 

It was mid February when her money gave out, leaving her to go through what she could in the garbage and try to keep her bump warm and hidden.

By now she had finally begun to accept that the growing thing inside her was human, and though it may be a curse, it was her curse. Sometimes she would find herself rubbing it absently, but a part of her would snatch her hand back and remind her not to get attached. If the little thing ever came out, it was going straight to the nearest child drop off.

She could barely feed herself right now, let alone a whiny, crying baby that needed to suckle every two hours and cried all night.

In her rummaging through the garbage cans, she hadn't quite begun to realize how heavily the snow had picked up. The substance was a near constant, but never like this.

Jemma looked up to the sky, watching the flakes come down harder and heavier. A root of dread snaked its way into her stomach.

Gently, she maneuvered herself between a fence and a can, and started walking. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she had to find shelter. Whatever was coming, it wasn't just a flurry.

The wind picked up and the temperature dropped and soon she found it was nearly night. Ducking into the nearest alley, she pulled her sleeping bag and tried the best she could to make a nest of some sort.

She huddled, baby bump and all in the tiny spot, and desperately prayed that somehow, someway, it didn't get too cold.

She didn't know how long she lay there, arms cradling her belly and hoping for the best, but the next thing she knew she felt tendrils of warmth. It spread up and around her, heating her, and in her delirious mindset she thanked whatever God she didn't believe in.

Gently, softly, she felt her eyelids slipping shut, and she welcomed the darkness.

* * *

 

It felt like clouds, soft wondrous clouds that didn't make her back ache and if she tried hard enough she could pretend that it was Fitz's arms wrapped around her and cradling her belly and saying good morning to their child. She could imagine that her baby wouldn't be tossed into the system and would instead grow up with pancakes and cuddles and old TV reruns on their father's lap.

But then consciousness came, and she felt like sobbing at the realization that this wasn't Fitz's apartment and his arms, but instead a hospital bed with starched white sheets and glaring lighting. There was a needle in her wrist and tiny sticky pads all over her chest and midsection.

Jemma blinked, sure she must be dreaming. But no, the room in all its tan and white glory was still there, silent and smelling like disinfectant.

Carefully, she shifted herself upwards, into more of a sitting position. She felt delightfully weightless, like she had just had an actual good sleep and not a nap on the street.

Noticing she was alone, Jemma craned her neck to look around, but there were no windows she could see.

"Hel-" She tried, only for her voice to crack. She cleared her throat, trying again. "Hello?"

Jemma waited a minute, listening to the beeping of the heart monitor. Her ears picked up a slight jumble of voices from outside the room, and there was a click of the door before a woman entered.

She was older, with stern features and dark eyes to match her hair. Jemma didn't know her, but she radiated power that had her immediate respect.  Her hands crossed instinctively over her belly.

The woman watched her for a moment, no movement. Then she offered a small smile, holding out her hand. "I'm Melinda,"

Jemma hesitated a beat before accepting it. "Jemma," she managed to croak out.

Melinda, seeing her distress, grabbed a pitcher off a table and quickly poured her a glass, handing the paper cup to her. Jemma accepted it with a nod, favoring the cool slide of water down her throat.

"How are you?" She asked once she finished.

Jemma winced. "Better, I suppose. And I'm guessing I have you to thank?"

A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. "In a way. You somehow managed to find your way to my doorstep, one of the girls found you when they were going to take out the trash. I don't suppose that was on purpose?"

"No," Jemma flushed. "I thought there was a storm coming and I just knew that I needed to get somewhere warm, and the alley seemed as good a place as any -" she cut herself off sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to take advantage of -"

"No," Melinda held up a finger. "You're not taking advantage, at all. I run a home for girls, so if anything you came to the right alley,"

Jemma laughed softly, tears prickling at the back of her eyes. She covered her face. "Oh, what you must think of me. Pregnant on your doorstep and freezing . . ."

Melinda gently placed her hand on her wrist. "We're used to these things, believe me."

Jemma's eyebrows raised. "No, I don't believe you are," she chuckled, eyes watery.

Melinda smiled. "Try me,"

She hesitated, watching with wide hazel eyes. This woman seemed trustworthy enough - smartly dressed, kind, had given her medical attention. And over all she just seemed . . . Nonjudgmental. So before she could stop herself, Jemma found her story tumbling out.

"My parents were dealers. Rather high level, really, but they were into it. Abusive lot, they were. I hid a lot, but usually I'd just go find Fitz." Her face lost its seriousness, a small smile twitching onto her face. "Fitz was amazing. He took care of me, learned how to braid so he could do my hair. I," she stumbled, eyes welling up. "I love him. I do, I love him so much. But my parents - when we were about fifteen, they got the idea we were sleeping together. We weren't, I swear, but they didn't listen and dragged me home and . . ." Her voice trailed off, tears returning full force.

". . . I didn't see Fitz again for a little more than a year. That was when they killed my parents and came after me, so I ran to him. He kept me safe and took care of me and we were planning to move in the spring, maybe somewhere out in the country where it's safer, but those men found me and I ran and-" a sob escaped her, one hand coming up to cover her mouth and the other to squeeze tighter on her belly.

Melinda laid a hand on her shoulder, eyes dark. "You only figured it out after you left," she nodded delicately toward her stomach.

Jemma nodded, barely able to see through her tears. "I just want to go home," she ground out, chest shuddering. "To Fitz,"

* * *

 

They kept her bedridden for nine days, doing routine tests and check ups on the creature inside her. There was food - _good food_ \- brought three times a day,  and vitamins to help her regain her strength.

A kind nurse who gave her name as Bobbi brought her fuzzy socks and a full set of a TV show called Doctor Who, which Jemma was roped into immediately.

At night she would fall asleep to the whirring of the machines and the rush of cars outside. It was a safe haven, and Jemma didn't believe she had ever felt so warm and safe in a place other than Fitz's. The nurses didn't judge and Melinda came and went, quiet but kind.

On day nine, Bobbi checked off a box on her clipboard, giving Jemma a glowing smile. "You ready to get out of that old thing?"

Jemma's brow furrowed. "You mean the bed?"

Bobbi chuckled. "Yep. You're free to get up, though you do need to take it easy at least until the baby comes."

"Yes ma'am," Jemma grinned, flicking off the covers and tentatively edging her legs over the side. Her midsection seemed larger somehow, getting in the way as she scooted. Bobbi gently held out her hands, helping Jemma to take her first few steps.

The mother-to-be let out a breathless giggle, glancing up at Bobbi with shining eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Morse,"

Bobbi sighed mockingly. "Jemma, for the hundredth time, it's _Bobbi_ ,"

* * *

 

A few days later, Jemma found herself in the SHIELD Home For Girls. On any other occasion she would have been ashamed, but after the way everyone had been so kind, she was rather excited.

The walls were all muted purples and grays, soft music and birds. It was rather tranquil, she discovered.

Melinda showed her to her room, where she would be sharing with a young Colombian girl named Elena. Her roommate was kind and welcoming, and though she didn't speak much English, Jemma enjoyed her presence nonetheless.

On her second day, Jemma set out exploring her new home. It consisted of three floors, each for a different age range, with handprints and notes decorating the walls.

Outside was a small garden, covered like a green house and no more than twenty feet across, but filled with assorted flowers and herbs. Despite being in the middle of the city, it was calming.

Jemma sat tentatively on a bench, watching a young girl about her age tend to a rose bush. Her hair was cropped short with wavy layers of brown, matching her eyes.

"Hi," Jemma started tentatively, smoothing a hand gently over her bump. "I'm Jemma,"

The girl paused, looking up. Her cheeks seemed flat, deflated. She had a sense of mystery to her.

"Daisy," the girl replied, dusting her hands on her slacks. "I take it you're new here?"

Jemma nodded. "Yes. Just came yesterday, actually. You?"

Her eyes hardened. "Few months ago,"

Jemma nodded, a soft "oh" escaping her. Daisy returned to her roses, silent for a few long minutes.

"So, when are you due?"

Jemma blinked at her bluntness before answering. "Sometime in April, I believe. That's what the nurse told me, anyhow. Not quite sure I believe it."

"April," Daisy nodded, not looking up. "Good time for a birthday,"

Less than three months.

That made more than six since she lad last seen Fitz, last felt his lips on hers and the brogue of his voice. He likely wouldn't even be here for the birth of his son or daughter, and right now didn't even know they existed.

Jemma nodded her approval, standing suddenly. "I - I'm sorry. I have to go. Nice meeting you, Daisy,"

She heard a murmur of "same" before the door to the garden slammed behind her, leaving Jemma to press a shaking hand to her mouth.

Only seconds later, the door clicked open behind her and Daisy gathered her into her arms, stroking her hair.

"Tell me everything,"

* * *

 

Hope Margaret Simmons was born April fifteenth on a gray, dreary day. She was underweight and almost small enough to be incubated, but she was strong and showed the nurses otherwise.

Jemma had screamed through the entire process and nearly broken multiple bones in Bobbi's hand, but she too made it.

The first ten minutes post labor consisted of Bobbi clutching Hope and trying to describe to a stubborn Jemma how her daughter looked.

"She's so, so tiny, Jems. I'm scared she might suffocate under all these blankets," Bobbi cooed, tickling her tiny chin. "And her hands, Jemma, they're so _small_! She can barely hold my whole finger,"

Jemma shook her head tiredly, sweat beading down her temple. "Bobbi, I'm sorry, but no. I'm not taking her." She swallowed harshly against the tightness in her throat.

"Her eyelashes - they're so -" Bobbi cut herself off immediately, the gentle swaying motion with which she was rocking the baby halted.

Her interest piqued, Jemma shakily pulled an extra pillow behind her head to get s better read on her friend. "What is it?"

"Her eyes," Bobbi murmured softly. "They're bright blue,"

That was all it took, because the next moment Hope was staring at her mother with the biggest blue eyes she'd ever seen and Jemma was sobbing all over again.

* * *

 

They spent three days in the hospital, Jemma learning to change nappies, nurse and a hundred other tiny things she hadn't ever thought of.

It passed quickly, and before she knew it, she was right back in her room with Elena. The Colombian girl was more than accommodating, even going so far as to offer to take a shift or two once a week with Hope.

The day she returned, Elena held up a small gift bag. "We . . . Made it," she beamed at Jemma's approving nod of her English, nodding for Jemma to open it.

Inside was a tiny knit cap, baby pink with a purple flower and a second headband, this time blue with a yellow flower. Jemma cooed at them, so tiny and delicate and then promptly placed the hat on Hope. Elena giggled at the baby's reaction.

At the very bottom, there was a small box. Jemma gave her friend a quizzical look, but Elena just grinned. Inside, there was a tiny gold cross necklace - a rosary, according to Elena.

That was all it took for the hormones to get the best of her, leaving Jemma crying with happiness and Hope cooing confusedly. Elena simply smiled at her, pulling her into a hug.

* * *

 

A week later, Jemma was nursing Hope gently in the commons area. The tiny baby suckled happily at her bottle, her near contentment borderline sleep.

Jemma stroked a finger along her cheek, speaking softly to her. "You look like your daddy,"

Hope blinked drowsily up at her, jaw still moving with her feeding.

"You do. You have his eyes, and your hair is going to be curly, I can tell," Hope didn't respond in any way, curling and uncurling her fist. Jemma's eyes moistened, watching her daughter's reddish face eating peacefully. She was struck back to her own childhood, of neglect and fear and pain. Quietly, she thumbed gently over the tufts of hair on her daughter's head. "You'll never have to find out what that's like," she murmured softly. "Never."

Hope gurgled suddenly, spitting out her formula. Jemma sighed, taking a corner of the burping cloth and cleaning her chin and neck as best as she could. She tossed the cloth over her shoulder before gently raising Hope over her shoulder.

She patted gently, waiting for the tell tale burps, before leaning her back down into the crook of her arm. Hope's eyes were heavy, fluttering shut even as Jemma tucked her blanket around her.

"Your daddy would love you," she said quietly. "He would give you the world and pester me until you could have pancakes, even if you can't physically digest right now."

Her eyes were tearing up simply imagining what Fitz would do if he were here, if he would try to braid her tiny hairs or if he would use scraps from his mum's shop to make her clothing. How his hands would look holding such a tiny thing, rocking her to bed and pressing kisses to her forehead.

"Jemma?"

She turned so fast Hope nearly had one-on-one with the floor, but she managed to catch her just in time.

The voice was quiet, but it immediately rewound her to lazy days spent in bed and old TV programs and pancakes in the fall and good morning kisses and every single tiny insignificant thing in between.

A sob broke out of her, and she made to stand, but Fitz gently guided her back down and sat on the sofa next to her. So she sat, memorizing every angle of his face and the blue of his eyes and the newly grown stubble on his cheeks. His eyes were wide and wet, face pale and his hand on her shoulder was shaking.

Her face crinkled up, and in that moment she pressed her face into his collarbone and let out every single tear she had left to give. His arm wrapped tightly around her, and it was only in the shaking of his chest that Jemma realized he, too, was sobbing into her hair.

His hand was cradling their daughter's head, and it was in that moment that Jemma pulled herself from him, opting instead to pepper kisses across his face, eyelids, nose and, finally, lips.

He kissed her back in earnest, matching every movement of hers with one of his own. The feeling of being so full, just drunk on love flooded her veins, finally making her pull back from him, resting the side of her head against the crook of his arm.

Sniffling, Jemma tearfully clutched her still sleeping daughter just a bit closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead before passing her to Fitz. Gently, she melded his arms to her shape, and then scooted back and watched the boy she loved and the child they'd created.

"This is Hope," she murmured, feeling his eyes on her. "Hope, this is your daddy,"

Those last five words seemed to wake Fitz up, and she felt his chest shudder. Carefully, she cupped the hand that was holding Hope's head with her own. 

"Her middle name is Margaret," Jemma whispered, wiping her eyes. "She was born nine days ago and weighed six pounds even,"

Fitz stared at her, the tiny bundle that up until this moment hadn't ever really existed in his world. Carefully, he raised her so he could plant a kiss on her nose. "Hello, baby girl,"

Then, gently, Jemma took Hope back and took her best friend's hand, pulling him to their room. She locked the door behind her before moving to lay Hope in her crib, but Fitz stopped her.

"No, Jems . . . I'd, I'd like to hold her," he managed, clearing his throat. "If that's alright with you,"

"Yeah, of course," she whispered, turning back to her bed and laying her back in her father's arms. Together the two of them sank back into the pillows, Hope nestled into the crook of his arm.

There was silence for a long minute, Fitz just watching his daughter's sleeping face. But then he broke it, tearing his gaze away to land on Jemma.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," he whispered, a tear snaking down his cheek. "I'm so damn sorry, Jemma,"

Jemma bit back the tightness in her throat, eyes burning with tears. "It wasn't your fault, at all,"

"It was," he sniffed, blinking. "I should have at least insisted on condoms or something,"

Despite herself, Jemma couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, Fitz. All of this, and all you can think of is whether or not we could have used better birth control?"

He cracked a smile. "Don't get me wrong, I've only known she's existed for maybe ten minutes, but I already can't imagine my life without her. I already love her,"

Jemma leaned her head onto his shoulder, softly smiling. "I wasn't going to keep her," she admitted. "I was so scared, Fitz. I _still_ am. I'm in control of her entire tiny life, and if I screw up even one thing then I hurt her,"

Fitz reached across with his free hand to squeeze hers gently. "You won't. Anything you do will be better than what we had to go through as kids,"

She released a shuddering breath, closing her eyes delicately. A beat passed, then two.

"Why didn't you come home?" He asked softly. "I've barely slept, just trying to find you,"

"I tried, so many times," she pressed a palm to her forehead. "But that gang - they had eyes, Fitz. If I tried to get in, they would have killed me, and I don't even want to think what they would have done to you,"

He closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry, Jemma. I can't even imagine what it was like for you."

"It's alright," she whispered finally. "It's alright, because you're here now,"

He only held her tighter, whispering "I love you,"

And she turned her head and kissed him firmly on the lips. "And I love you,"

* * *

 

The look on his mum's face when first Fitz and Jemma came out with her bags was ecstatic.

But the look on her face when they returned with Hope, whom had been under Elena's care, was priceless.

"I don't know what was running through my head when you two took so long," she muttered to Fitz, whom had been forced to drive so his mum could hold her granddaughter, "but this was _not_ it,"

Jemma laughed lightly, turning her gaze to back out the window. Suddenly, she frowned. "Fitz, this isn't the way to your apartment."

He grinned. "No, it's not,"

She puzzled over it as they drove, the congested streets of the city she called home giving way to suburban houses and then to trees. It was at least another hour before Fitz finally turned down a grassy lane.

Jemma couldn't help but gasp at the sight of a small country home situated at the top of a hill, painted red with deep gray shutters. The car shuttered to a stop, Fitz hopping out before running around to open Jemma's door and take her hand as she stepped out.

"You always said you wanted out of the city," he murmured, wrapping a hand around her waist. "What do you say we all start here?"

* * *

 

"How'd you find me?" She asked him one day, stroking a hand over his curls.

He chuckled, thumbing over Hope's fluffy hair. She was tucked neatly between her two parents, watching each with a steadfast focus. "Mum and I looked everywhere for you. After we moved out here - about a month and a half ago - we drove into the city once every week. Checked every shelter, every paper. I'd never even heard of SHIELD until this girl came running up to me and shoved a paper in my hand. She was gone before I could thank her,"

Jemma froze next to him. "What girl?"

"Um," he thought for a moment. "About our age, short brown hair. Dark eyes. She seemed -"

"-dangerous," Jemma finished, nearly gasping. "Oh my god, Daisy,"

"Daisy?"

She winced. "I kind of told her everything. Even your name. She's a skilled computer hacker, I suppose I should have put two and two together."

Fitz was silent for a moment. "So she tracked me down to tell me where to find you?" His breath left him in a rush. "My god, we've got to find that girl and thank her,"

Jemma laughed, pressing up to kiss him on the cheek. "We do. Perhaps dinner, next Sunday?"

* * *

 

Daisy did come for dinner, quiet and withdrawn with her own secrets, but little by little her walls cracked.

Somehow, it wasn't too great of a surprise when she came back the week after, and the week following, and then the next.

It wasn't long before the basement became her home.

* * *

 

The days following Jemma's and Hope's arrival were spent in Fitz's bed, Jemma having introduced him to a show called Doctor Who. Soon he began whining that Clara would have been a much better name, to which Jemma slapped him.

Pancakes were made in abundance, every breakfast a different occasion. Some had chocolate chips, some fruit, but all delicious.

Less than a week after her arrival, Jemma couldn't find Fitz for a full hour. Her questions were all answered when he came stomping back from the hardware store, buckets of purple paint and an absurd amount of glitter in his arms before he promptly locked himself in the spare bedroom.

She didn't seem him until dinner that night, when he then beckoned her up to see his handiwork.

The walls were a light lilac, and it appeared he'd painted the oak trim to become white. Giant cartoon monkey stickers decorated the room, but it was when Jemma looked up that she gasped.

The ceiling was a navy blue with glitter applied in the likeness of stars.

"Oh my god, Fitz," she breathed, staring in wonder. "It's perfect."

He kissed her in reply.

* * *

 

Their lives weren't perfect, not by a long shot. Jemma still awoke with nightmares and Fitz would cry for her in his sleep. Hope kept them awake more nights than most, and soon after they discovered another family had decided to start a life in the house - this time rabbits.

But the city was behind them, with all of its flaws and horrors and everything that had ever tormented them. It was another life, set far in the past.

_We're free,_ Jemma realized one day, wearing a white sundress and a crown of flowers in her hair. Fitz waited for her beneath a trellis, wearing his best suit and the largest smile she'd ever seen.

_Like birds._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bunnies completely intentional. 
> 
> Points to whomever guess where the chapter title is from . . . it has a double meaning :)
> 
>  
> 
> Tumblr - WhenTheSkyeQuakes

**Author's Note:**

> Still in shock I've written this (it wasn't even smutty, but that's what you get from me. I swear I'm only like this on the internet) . . . Also, FS are seventeen, legal age of consent in the US is sixteen. . . not gonna endorse it, but hey!
> 
> Next chap will be up by this time next week :) 
> 
> Tumblr - WhenTheSkyeQuakes


End file.
